


whatever doesn't make me stronger kills me

by Recurring



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, VW Sylvain, Verdant Wind Spoilers, after Gronder Field, ambiguous ending, and the lance of ruin, but like really unhappy VW Sylvain, implied Dimilix, non-AM sylvix ending, now with, that gets requited poorly, unrequited Sylvix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recurring/pseuds/Recurring
Summary: Verdant Wind Route. After Gronder, Sylvain plans to drown his grief the only way he knows how. There, he is approached by a familiar face, and is faced with his own familiar pain.Felix joins after the battle at Gronder. Fodlan's New Dawn also marks the End of an Era.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	1. maybe i'll drink this all away in buckets

**Author's Note:**

> This is based largely off of the song 'Astoria' by Marianas Trench.
> 
> 'I'm on my own, you came alone  
> All dressed up in bad news  
> (I know you've been hurt too)  
> This would be the wrong move  
> (Maybe we should leave soon)  
> You can lay with me while you think of him  
> Drown our sorrows deep in each other's skin'

After Gronder, Sylvain doesn't know.He doesn't know if he did the right thing.He doesn't know if he was wrong to 'defect' to the Golden Deer.He doesn't know if his friends are alive or dead.

There's only one thing he's certain of, and that is this: he's far from home, and he can't feel anything. 

Sylvain has always had a cure for that, though.So he goes into the town of Garreg Mach to drink it all away, until it starts to hurt again.That's when he can find someone, anyone, with their own wounds to distract him from his own, just for a little while.It's wrong and it hurts and Sylvain loves it.

But after Gronder everything is wrong.The people in this place aren't right.Sylvain doesn't know what's come over him, because he is so alone, and he could do something about it, he wants to, but he can't.He can't shake his loneliness, the knowledge that he will be alone forever.He doesn't deserve to escape it when the others couldn't escape their own fates. 

He had made a promise, and didn't even know if he'd broken it. 

Sylvain doesn't dare think about that.His head is in his hands, his eyes are dry, his drink untouched.Hilda had begun saying something, out there, but Sylvain had left.He couldn't know.He doesn't want to know.His life until this point, his goals and wishes, the promises--Sylvain's shoulders shake and he hooks his fingernails into his scalp.

Somebody sits down beside him.Sylvain doesn't look up.

"I knew I'd find you here," comes the dry voice of a ghost.

Sylvain swallows thickly.This presence at his side should have come with something else, with hope, but there is nothing.

"I couldn't save him myself," the ghost says.

"Don't," Sylvain breathes."Don't bother haunting me.I can't change anything."

"I'm not a ghost.I--Sylvain, look at me."

With an effort Sylvain turns his head to take in the man beside him, older than he remembers, his eyes like embers now, rather than flames.His hair has been mercilessly cut at the front and there's a long, thin scratch from his temple to his ear.His lip is healing from a cut and he looks as empty as Sylvain feels.

"Felix," Sylvain says.The pain isn't there yet."I thought you were just another burned bridge."

"Everything's burnt," Felix says quietly."He's gone."

Felix had made a decision, too, one that had left Sylvain gutted like so many of the people they had left behind at Gronder.

"I'm not surprised," Sylvain says.He turns back to his drink, studies it, downs it.

Felix wraps his hand around Sylvain's wrist.

"Why are you here," Sylvain says, not as a question.He looks at Felix again, really looks, at the changes his old friend wears.The tears mended in his clothing, suggesting scars beneath.The sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, accentuated by hunger.The darkness in his eyes.

"He's gone," Felix says again.

Of course he wouldn't cry.He wouldn't have cried for Sylvain, either. 

Sylvain sneers, pulling his lips over his teeth."So you're just here for the same reason I am."

Felix doesn't meet his eyes, just lets go of Sylvain's wrist."I know you don't care."

It comes then, the pain, harder than Sylvain had expected.He'd always cared, since they were children, long before they'd ever made the promise.That Felix thought he didn't--

Sylvain gestures to the bar for a full bottle to be brought over.He can't look at Felix, can't show that he's feeling anything.When the bottle arrives he unstoppers it and drinks straight from it.

Felix snatches it away and downs a large gulp, himself."I thought I could get strong enough."

"It's pointless," Sylvain says."Everything.Fuck everything."

***

They pass the bottle back and forth, until it's empty.

"Now's when you find someone to be with," Felix says, slurring a little."Isn't it?Here I am.Hurt me like you do the others--just--like you always hurt yourself."

Sylvain eyes his friend, whose face is flushed from the alcohol.It's still wrong, but it always is.The wrong time, the wrong girl, the wrong house, the wrong prince--

Sylvain grabs Felix by the back of the neck and pulls him into a hard kiss, messy and forceful.Felix pushes back, pushes his tongue in between Sylvain's lips.Sylvain angles his head back, pulls Felix closer, closer than they ever were as kids, off his chair and onto Sylvain's lap.Felix wraps his legs around Sylvain, the two of them locked together in the corner of this dark place, each of them alone.

Pulling away, Felix draws a whine out of Sylvain.He's always wanted this.Always.It wasn't supposed to hurt this way, when Felix scrapes his teeth along Sylvain's jaw, down to bite hard at his neck.

"Fe--" Sylvain breathes, his vision cloudy.

"Dimitri," Felix whispers. 

Sylvain clutches at Felix's back, digging his fingers at the fabric of his vest.

" _Dimitri_ ," Felix repeats.

It kills Sylvain to hear.But maybe it's right, maybe this is the one last trace of justice in this broken world, that Sylvain be haunted in this way.He clings to Felix, as if he can pull him any closer, while the other man sinks his teeth into his shoulder. 

"Save me," Sylvain whines."Save me."

Felix grunts, burying his face where he'd just bitten, and it's wet, so wet.Felix winds his fingers into Sylvain's hair, hard.His lips move against Sylvain's skin, as he's saying, voiceless, _I'm trying,_ over and over.

Sylvain knows, even as he lifts Felix up to carry them somewhere more private, and paid for, that nothing will save him.He knows, when Felix is on top of him on a filthy mattress with his hands pinning his wrists, that this isn't helping Felix, either.He knows that the war is going to be long.He knows that this isn't the end of all the hurt.He knows better than to hope that Felix will still be there, in the morning, beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I wasn't going to write today and then I put on the Wrong Playlist and wrote. I don't feel...good...about this, but I see a lot of angst up here so I thought, whatever, maybe someone wants this


	2. every start begins with saying goodbye to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One last cue, from love true  
> it's our final adieu  
> Hearts will break, for future's sake  
> But mine just won't take  
> Can't love if you don't  
> I can't try if you won't  
> I know  
> Please just let me go, my dear  
> Cause I'd stay near  
> And lose myself here"  
> ~'End of an Era', Marianas Trench

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to the galaxy-brained person who subscribed to this as a Completed Work, how did you know that it would get me to write a second part? this is for you. i hope you enjoy

It's supposed to be over.It should have ended with Edelgard's death, in Enbarr, months ago.Still they're fighting, still new enemies seem to rise from beyond the grave.The war drags on, exhausting, and the worst part of it is that Sylvain feels something like _relief_ when the news comes that an army bearing the Crest of Flames as its banner is marching on Garreg Mach.

A slow march, deliberate and bloody, one that Sylvain is almost grateful for.It will take them a month to reach the monastery.A month in which battle preparations go on as usual, and he doesn't need to give in to thoughts of the future.As far as any of them know, the future still isn't guaranteed.

It's hard to watch the others.Sylvain hates the haggard frustration etched on the face of their 'fearless leader', the tired way Byleth drifts through the halls, expression as blank as when she'd accepted Sylvain into the Golden Deer those long years ago.Everyone is sick of fighting, sick of death.

He doesn't talk about it, not with the Professor, not with Annette, and certainly not with Felix.

He'd never expected the swordsman to join them, after Gronder.For a moment, he'd allowed himself to feel hope again, when he'd woken up feeling sick and filthy and Felix had still been beside him.When Felix had offered his blade to the Resistance Army, muttering something about boars and emperors and will.

For a time, Sylvain fooled himself into thinking that Felix was his again.But Felix never had been.

Felix calls for Dimitri less and less, but Sylvain's name is never on his lips.Instead, the swordsman just gets quieter, more detached.Sylvain wants him, always wants him, but he finds that he can't love him, not when Felix clearly doesn't.Not when Felix won't even try.

Still, Felix won't let go, won't stop dragging Sylvain closer. 

It's said that Nemesis himself leads the soldiers marching on Garreg Mach.After the Hell they've gone through, Sylvain is resigned to the rumour.It _would_ be the King of Liberation, himself.The thought of facing him should be terrifying, but Sylvain feels nothing more than tired acceptance. 

Sylvain could stay in the familiarity of Felix's bed forever.He would run his fingers through dark hair for as long as he was allowed.Looking at Felix's eyes, hard and cold and empty, Sylvain thinks maybe he does love Felix, loves him like Felix is already dead.

It's the night before they meet Nemesis' forces in battle.Felix ends his training early, not wanting to wear himself out before the fight.Sylvain follows suit, trails after Felix back to the dormitories.He wants to want a drink, he wants to feel something--be it dread or fear or hope. 

Sometimes Felix kicks him out of bed after, but not tonight.Sylvain jokingly lets himself consider the possibility that he's wanted.

"Maybe tomorrow we'll keep our promise," Sylvain says.

Felix is facing the wall.His shoulder rises and drops in an angry huff."I'm not dying.And I'm not letting you."

Why does he even care?Why hold on at all?Sylvain's fingers close around the covers, tight.

"What will you do, after?" Sylvain asks, instead.

"I'll find somewhere else my blade is needed."

"And me?"

Felix snorts."You have to go back to Gautier."

It's true, but there isn't even an invitation in it.Felix doesn't want Sylvain tagging along.

"Why can't you let me go, then?" Sylvain whispers.

 _I'd stay with you, I'd lose myself until I was as empty as you are_ , Sylvain wants to say, but the words die in his chest.

***

It's not just Nemesis, it's the Ten Elites.The ground is a mire and sucks at their every step.Demonic Beasts howl and so do their comrades, when they're cut down.Sylvain tries to protect them, as many as he can.He throws himself in front of arrows and magic that stinks of sulphur.At his side is the crackle of Thoron and the flash of a silver blade--always pressing onward, deeper into danger.Sylvain hurtles after, desperate to protect, or to keep their fates entwined.

He's stopped by a great knight wielding a familiar lance--it glows red, the perfect mirror to the weapon in Sylvain's hands.His stomach drops.The face of his distant ancestor is obscured by a helmet, but there's somehow no doubt in his mind that this is the source of the Crest that lives under his skin.His stomach drops.

Behind Gautier, more lightning crackles, blue and deadly.Sylvain raises his lance, angles his steed along the driest path, and kicks at the horse's sides.

The battlefield rushes past, the sounds and sights and smells blur into a singular rush of energy, a tunnel at the end of which is Felix.Standing between them is nothing but a faceless corpse.

Sylvain is met with a flash of red, a shuddering impact up his arm.He reins his horse in and shakes sweat out of his eyes.Still, he can just register Gautier as a looming silhouette.The only detail he can make out is the Lance of Ruin, perfectly replicated and throbbing with power.Sylvain charges again, feels a rush of blood as his Crest activates and his arm thrusts forward with more power.

Gautier meets him, their Relics clashing with a sound like crunching bone.

Somewhere else is Felix.Beyond him is Nemesis.Beyond Nemesis is the future they've been fighting for.

Sylvain pulls back to strike, aiming for his opponent's helm.His Relic collides with a crash, knocking the visor off.

At first he thinks there's nothing beneath it, and his stomach heaves.Then two eyes fixate on him, glowing with their Crest.There's nothing else, no trace of recognition, that they share the same blood.There's no bloodlust, no anger or fear.Sylvain shudders, like he's just caught sight of his reflection in the dark.

Gautier charges, lance pointed at Sylvain's chest.The redhead twists away, hearing metal shriek as his breastplate is torn open and white hot pain blooms across his skin.

It's a shallow wound, but the pain is real.Sylvain screams and it all hits him at once--the war catches up to him.

He's furious.

Sylvain brings his lance up to block Gautier's next strike.The Lance of Ruin makes a sound like splitting granite.His body reverberates with the impact, but he forces it to keep steady.He tastes bile in his throat and feels his Crest bubbling in his veins as he raises the Lance of Ruin for one final blow. 

He plunges it through Gautier's breastplate, watches the glow of his Crest fade and a crack race along the handle of the Lance.The stone goes dark, spent.

***

Real fear settles deeper into Sylvain's ribcage with their victory.He stays close to Felix, afraid to let him out of sight.

It's a new dawn for Födlan, the start of an era of peace.Sylvain knows what else this means.

He doesn't see Felix during the victory celebration.Perhaps he's helping in the infirmary.Sylvain put his own limited Faith to use after the final battle.Perhaps he's swinging his sword in the training grounds, or lurking in his room, away from the noise.Sylvain looks, and looks, checking every corner of the monastery.

He finds Felix in the cathedral, still in half his armour, his palm rubbing irritably over the pommel of his sword. 

"Felix," Sylvain says, his voice cheerful through sheer force of habit."Not enjoying the festivities?I'm sure there are plenty of ladies who'd like to thank you for your part."

"You never change," Felix spits.

Sylvain swallows, feels his heart pounding in his throat."I guess not."His mouth is almost too dry to form words. 

Felix looks away, up at the ruin of the cathedral.He lets out a frustrated sigh, a mere hiss between his teeth.In the dark he may not even be there, not completely. 

"You don't have to go," Sylvain blurts."You can-- _we_ could--"

"This isn't easy," Felix snaps.

"We could keep our promise," Sylvain finishes, softly.He's shaking--he wonders where this was during the war, when it made sense.

" _We_ made that promise when we were different people.I don't want to speak of it."

Sylvain's eyes widen.His gaze dodges away."I know this isn't who I hoped to be, but--"

"It doesn't matter," Felix says, his voice low.Sylvain can imagine his expression, eyes closed, teeth clenched, frustrated with the way he expresses his own feelings."I'm no use if I'm not swinging a blade."

There is more to Felix than that, there always has been, but Sylvain is only able to tremble and shake his head.

"I don't know how we survived," Felix hisses.

Sylvain doesn't have the answer, either."Can you forgive me?" He's not sure where the question comes from, what specifically he's apologizing for--there's a long list.

He feels Felix's eyes on him, two low embers burning in the dark."Of course.But that's why--"

Sylvain looks up at him, feels the last spark of hope in him fading.

"--why this is goodbye."

***

They don't see each other for years, until Sylvain hires mercenaries to deal with some minor unrest in Gautier territory and Felix happens to be among them.He knows why Felix said that, now.Why Felix forgave him, for surviving.Because that was all Felix ever wanted--to be strong enough to protect everyone.He'd done enough to protect Sylvain, but no one else.

Not the one person that mattered.

Felix fights alongside Gautier troops and Sylvain feels him watching, gauging Sylvain's ability.When the mission is completed, Felix accepts his payment, clearly not intending to stay any longer.

"I don't blame you, for not wanting any part of this," Sylvain gestures around, to his inheritance, to what used to be Faerghus."I understand."

Felix studies him in silence, his long hair lifted by a cold breeze.His eyes are dark, his face weary.The Goddess only knows what things he's seen, what sights still haunt him. 

At last, Felix nods."Goodbye, Sylvain."

***

When the sword arrives on Sylvain's doorstep, he hears the words again. 

' _Goodbye, Sylvain'_

It was a goodbye that lasted from the cradle to this moment.A lifetime of losing each other, of farewells, of promises made and broken.One day, it had to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If we shadows have offended  
> I hope your heart can still be mended  
> I hope you know that I don't blame you my dear friend  
> Always will love you still  
> But Astoria must end"


	3. but i never think of you at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-war, felix pov

It's been forever since Sylvain has crossed Felix's mind.The last time they'd seen each other had been the end of the war, when Felix left to pursue life as a mercenary and greater strength.There's no threat anymore, not like before.Felix doesn't have much opportunity to swing his blade. 

A sword without a purpose is just a thing collecting dust.

There are plenty of jobs at first--clearing out bandits, dealing with remnants of the Agarthans.Felix is able to choose the missions he takes on, and he chooses the ones that take him farthest from what used to be Faerghus.

As time goes by, and peace reigns and the changes made by Claude and Byleth are established, work for a mercenary becomes scarce.Felix knows this is a good thing, overall, but it forces him to be less picky in his job search.

When a posting appears advertising the need for a mercenary's services in Gautier territory, for example, Felix can't exactly afford to turn it down.

It's fine, though, because Felix doesn't think of Sylvain anymore.He accepts the job and informs his mercenary company of the fact, and with equipment ready, they strike out North.

***

Felix doesn't regret his decision, to leave everything behind.He knows, because he goes over this quite often.The time he spent with Sylvain during the war was out of necessity--circumstances thrust them together.Felix had been grieving the Prince for the third time, and while seeking out Sylvain's company was, in hindsight, not the healthiest way to deal with it, Felix had managed to keep the two of them alive.So it had not been a complete mistake.As for Sylvain, he had managed to keep his self-destructing habits to a minimum for the latter portion of the war.

So it had been an arrangement that worked, despite its flaws.The end of the war had marked the end of its usefulness.

The space Felix has put between himself and his past is good.It's what he needs.Perhaps he isn't _content_ with his work as a mercenary--worthy opponents are hard to find--but he doesn't miss Sylvain. 

Sylvain probably doesn't miss him, either.

Felix has a drink that maybe he shouldn't, and nods to himself. 

He doesn't miss Sylvain, not the familiarity of seeing his shock of red hair from a distance, nor the times when they'd spar and Felix would get the upper hand and criticize Sylvain for spending too much time chasing women instead of training.He certainly doesn't miss the way Sylvain would laugh him off, his brown eyes sparkling as he winked. 

Felix has had other partners since the war ended.Sometimes a fellow mercenary--convenient.Other times, a stranger at a tavern--fleeting and noncommittal.Never anything that lasts beyond a single night.It's not because of the past, it's because Felix simply doesn't need any different.He's always been practical.Always.

None of them taste quite the same as Sylvain.

Luckily for Felix, he doesn't think about it very often.He wonders if neither does Sylvain.

***

Arriving in Gautier, the tightness that has been building in Felix's chest makes him fear for the mission.Sylvain greets him, shining like fire, a beacon.

 _Don't miss me_ , Felix pleads.If Sylvain misses him, asks him to stay, Felix will have to hurt him again. _Don't miss me, don't miss me._

Sylvain says Felix is looking well.He provides more details on the unrest that needs to be quelled.

Felix does his job quickly and efficiently.He has no plans to linger.Still, he watches Sylvain, reassured that the Margrave has been keeping up with his training, that there's no real reason for Felix to be there.He studies Sylvain from one eye, finding nothing lacking as they sweep up the last of the enemy.Sylvain fights with focus and strength.Nothing distracts him.He doesn't miss Felix.

They march back to Gautier in silence, and once there, Felix accepts his reward with a mumbled thanks.

"I don't blame you," Sylvain says, gesturing around, "for not wanting any part of this.I understand."

Felix studies him.A breeze tickles his cheek.It's cold.Sylvain's eyes don't sparkle, he doesn't wink or try to convince Felix to stay, the way he had at the end of the war. 

He doesn't miss Felix, which is good.Felix is glad.It's how things are supposed to be.

The tightness in his chest won't loosen.Felix nods, gritting out a goodbye, the taste of Sylvain's name bitter on his lips.

Felix spends his coin on drinks that don't answer when he asks how it can be possible to miss something you never even had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since another person subscribed and there is a whole album after Astoria, And it's the 3rd of October, i thought maybe i could do something little with Felix and 'Don't Miss Me?'.
> 
> one more chapter?


	4. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I roam these halls, search the night  
> In hopes that i may see  
> A remnant trace, a glimpse of you  
> I stare into the deep  
> Singing I know, I know, I know, I know, I know  
> I know my love can be  
> The deep stares back, speaks to me  
> I know my love can be  
> The killing kind'  
> ~Marianas Trench, 'The Killing Kind'

Sylvain can't sleep.It's been months since the sword appeared on his doorstep.Months of regret.He hears his own words, again and again, _I don't blame you for not wanting any part of this_.He'd meant it, but he'd said the wrong thing.Or maybe he hadn't said enough.

 _I don't blame you for not wanting any part of this,_ Sylvain says, and in some other world, he adds, _but what about me?What if I went with you?_

If Sylvain had--he gets out of bed, pulls on a robe and storms out his chambers--then maybe Felix would still be here.He slams his door closed behind him, and something clinks further down the hall.When they were children they had gotten into so much trouble for running along here, knocking over a vase when one of them tackled the other.Sylvain can't remember which of them it was.He just remembers the spot in the hallway--just a few paces further, here--where they'd cowered as a butler scolded them.

There's a mirror nearby.Sylvain's fair skin stands out in the darkness.He hasn't been sleeping well at all, lately.He's spent more time indoors doing paperwork.Felix's voice rings in his ears, warning that he'll go soft, that he needs to be out training.Now is as good a time as any, Sylvain supposes.As he turns from the mirror he catches the sight of something behind him, but his eyes are tired.There's nothing.

He's imagining Felix's voice wrong.Sylvain stalks further, pulling his robe around himself.He can hear the tone, but gets the words wrong.Or he can choose the cutting words, but the timbre of the voice is wrong.Too similar to his own.It would be easier if he could see Felix.

Surely, Sylvain has a portrait from when they were children--the four of them all together, the pride and hope of Faerghus.Ghost children of a ghost nation.Sylvain smirks, trying to remember where the painting hangs.

He can remember the picture.It's clear.He knows that it exists, just not where.One room after another, Sylvain searches for it.It's not on the third floor.Not on the second.Not the first either.It isn't in the halls or any parlours or sitting rooms or anywhere.

Maybe his father put it into storage, somewhere.It could be in the attic.The moon shines in through the windows, silver on the carpet.Sylvain is back at the mirror.

It used to be here.Behind his reflection is darkness, in his eyes there is darkness.Everything's gone.

 _What if I went with you?_ Sylvain asks in another world, and follows Felix to the ends of the earth, protects him and is kept safe in turn, tastes freedom for the first time in his life, keeps the only promise he's ever made that actually mattered.

 _Goodbye, Sylvain_ , Felix said before leaving him, because Sylvain didn't do enough, because Sylvain never tried to keep a relationship alive.Because Sylvain made sure to kill each one before it began, because that was all he was ever good at.

During the war Sylvain had been haunted, waking up to see Felix like the spectre of their past.He'd wondered why Felix couldn't decide whether to stay or go.He'd clung to Felix and mourned Felix again and again.

But it had been Felix who fought for the future, who struggled to bear the burdens of the living.What had it been like for him, to also feel Sylvain's insincere touch night after night?Had he doubted whether it was real?Had Sylvain been the ghost all this time?When had he died--with Dimitri, at Gronder?Or when he had chosen the Golden Deer over his childhood friends?

Whenever it had happened, Sylvain knew it was all his fault.It was what he did.His love only ever tore apart.Every embrace he ever gave was one of farewell.

He can't get out from under the chill that settles on him.He roves the halls in earnest now, trying to warm up, trying to deny that it was all his fault.Only he can't, he can't, he's here in Gautier and Felix is dead and it's all because Sylvain did exactly what he always did.

The last time he felt so trapped, he was at the bottom of a dried-up well, the light of the sky above slowly turning from a bright blue disc to something dark and cold.Even then, it had been him, his presence, that had ruined someone else's life. 

How is he back at the mirror?Sylvain drags his fingers through his hair, then leans forward.He braces his hands on the narrow table that holds a single vase of dried flowers and peers at his reflection.In it he can still see features he shared with Miklan, and with his father, and he grinds his teeth and that only makes it worse.

One more killer from a long line of killers.Wasn't that what they'd learned about the 10 Elites, anyway?Had Sylvain not cut down his own ancestor in that final battle?He was in Sylvain's reflection, too, and none of this would have happened if there were no Crests, if Sylvain didn't have one, if he wasn't cursed with the blood of a murderer.

Maybe Sylvain's fate had been decided in the same way that all his relationships were.

Sylvain can't seem to leave--he's falling into his past, pinned at the bottom by his own weary stare.In the well, in Gautier, in himself--stuck, trapped, cursed.

 _You're a fool_ , Felix would say.His voice is full of derision.Sylvain winces and breaks eye contact, manages to pull away from the mirror.Swaying, uncertain, he returns to his chambers and finds the bottle that's stored in a cabinet for nights like these.He pulls it out, fumbles for a glass and knocks it over.Forget it.Sylvain's the only one here, anyway.He pulls the stopper out and drinks, one long draught, silently toasting Felix for surviving longer than any of Sylvain's other conquests.

He takes a second, for the way his chest tightens at the thought.

He drinks.

Maybe he'll sleep easier, now.

He drinks.

He remembers doing the same after Gronder, remembers the ghost of Felix sliding into place beside him.It's near midnight--probably after.

The sword is lying on the mantle, a place of honour.Is Felix still within it, somehow?The last thing Felix ever possessed, ever loved.Why send it at all?Sylvain stands and the blood rushes to his head and he realizes he's drunk almost the entire bottle by himself.

He sets it down loudly on the open cabinet shelf and staggers to the mantle.Embers glow beneath it.Sylvain doesn't care about them, though, nor how they're sharp and critical like eyes.He seizes the sword in its scabbard and wraps his hand around the hilt.

 _Idiot_ , Felix hisses.

"Felix," Sylvain breathes."Felix wherever you are, if you can hear--"

 _Idiot_.

_Talking to ghosts is pointless._

"We didn't have to be alone," Sylvain whispers.In another world Sylvain begged him, _stay, stay, stay_.

"Stay," he whines."We could've--"

He sobs, holding the sword close.

_What are you doing?Don't you have a territory to run, people to protect?Can't you see to the living for once?_

"No, no," Sylvain shakes his head."Not now.Just--hush." There's tomorrow, to see to the living. For now Sylvain only wants to bask in the broken promise, in the presence he can feel within the sword.

Unclasping it, Sylvain pulls the sword from its sheath.It's well-cared for, shining silver where a fragment of moonlight hits the blade.It looks liquid.It's all the memories of Felix and it's bright enough that Sylvain can see his own reflection in it. He stares, remembering the purpose Felix claimed to find in swinging a blade. He thinks of lies and half-truths and the things neither of them said. It's too late now. Sylvain holds the blade across his knees, reverently. Is a part of him really there? Sylvain needs to believe it.

"Felix, stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm serious: This is the last chapter (until Marianas Trench releases new music skdjhsjd). Go listen to Phantoms in the meantime it's perfect for the month of Hallowe'en


End file.
